The Unburned Cross
by TronaRi05
Summary: Jeanne d'Arc is killed by England. France arrives at the scene a few hours late, having been delayed by some battles that had to be sort out. When England comes to confront France as well, the two make a heavy vow about the future love of England's life.


The scene smelled of charred wood and burning flesh. Even hours after what had happened, the smell had not cleared as France slowly wobbled over to the stake. He dropped on his knees with a thud, his eyes dull and empty as he scooped up her ashes and only to let them fall to the ground once again. He slowly dug through the ashes to find whatever remains of her and found a cross that he himself had given her before she had left for war.

France pressed the cross to his lips as, finally, the tears he had kept inside fell. Rolling silently down his cheeks and onto her ashes.

"Mon Amour…Jeanne," France whispered.

He blamed himself, for what had happened to her, almost as much as he blamed England. If only he had gotten there earlier. Maybe if he had paid more attention to some rumors which had reached his ears. If only he had stayed by her side the whole time. Maybe then…maybe then she wouldn't have died such a painful death for something she had _not_ done.

The only other sound in the world was the slight breeze, but soon something disturbed the atmosphere. The sound of boot to pavement approached the Frenchman as he knelt by what once had been his lover. At first, he thought it might be a general or his king, telling him it was time to go back to war. He felt a firm hand on his shoulder as the voice spoke.

"My condolences," came the voice with the thick English accent.

France stood up slowly, pushing himself off the somewhat charred ground. He turned and glared into the large green orbs, "Your _condolences_? Hah! Arthur, please don't make me laugh."

England flinched at the usage of his human name by another country. "Yes, Francis. I am truly sorry for what I had to do."

"What you had to do?" France spat on England's boots, "You didn't have to do anything."

"You know the rules," England said, trying to remain calm as he confronted the older country, "My king wanted it and that's the orders he gave and those are the orders I had to follow."

"Right," France said, clenching the cross in his hand. "Follow the orders."

England say the damage he had down to his fellow nation in his eyes. He took a somewhat cautious step forward, "Francis, I am truly sorry, but even if she hadn't died here today…there would be no way you two would end up together."

A fire lit in France's spirit, "What are you saying, Arthur Kirkland? I loved her and even if she did die of old age, I still would."

"Then does it make a difference that she died here today?" England blurted out before he could filter out the consequences. He raised his hand slowly to his mouth once the thought registered, "Oh, France, I hadn't meant-"

"Oh, I know full well what you meant England," France said, glaring straight through him. "I know what you meant, but you know what?"

England tried to keep his ground under the intense glare.

"The only reason you're so bitter over this is because you've never experienced true love," France growled. "I'll wait."

"Pardon?" England said, cocking and eyebrow, his shoulders tensing.

"I _will_ wait," France said, stepping closer and grabbing a fistful of England's shirt, "When the time comes-when you finally love someone be it platonic or romantic feelings-I will tear down that wall, brick by brick with my own hands."

"Ha," England let out a short laugh, "You really think you will be able to?"

"Yes," France said, sending shivers down England's spine, "I know I will."

"Then should I take this as a threat?" England smirked, his façade working quite well.

"Watch your back, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland," France growled, throwing down the shorter nation with a loud thud. "You will rue the day you crossed me, Francis Bonnefoy and the day you took away my love."

France walked off, his shadow long as the sun had begun to set. England smiled, picking himself off the ground and looking at the stake which Joan of Arch had been burned.

"Then I vow, on that day, that I will shut down my heart that's about to be broken. That day is the day I will become Britannia," England let out a long laugh that resonated along the brick walls of England.

The year that this vow and this revenge slowly began, whether France and England knew it or not, was 1607. When it was completed, the date was the 19th of April, 1775; which later became known as the American Revolutionary War.


End file.
